


Far Far Away: Coruscant Chaos

by vehlr



Series: AU: In A Galaxy Far Far Away [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition, Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Star Wars Setting, F/M, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-15
Updated: 2016-05-26
Packaged: 2018-06-08 13:43:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6857398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vehlr/pseuds/vehlr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The adventures of Jedi Knight Cassandra Pentaghast and the Kirkwall Conglomerate ambasssador, Varric Tethras.</p><p>On Coruscant, negotiations are halted and the Jedi step in to investigate...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> We're not quite starting at the beginning (in true Star Wars fashion!) but better to start at all...

Cassandra Pentaghast, formerly of the Nevarran Monarchy, watches the ships coming in to dock, a scowl gracing her features.

“Master Pentaghast,” drawls a familiar voice behind her. “Are you suddenly interested in trade discussions, or is your attention held by the owners of the crafts themselves?”

With a thin smile, she waves a hand dismissively. “Master Kenobi, I was not aware you would be present for the negotiations.”

“It was a late arrangement.”

“Mm.” She turns to smile at him. “And I am sure it had absolutely _nothing_ to do with the late arrival of the Duchess Kryze, from the Council of Neutral Systems.”

“Of course not,” he says lightly, returning the smile. “Just as your attention is not held in the _slightest_ by the arrival of the Deshyr Tethras, from the Kirkwall Conglomerate.”

She does not acknowledge the comment, instead looking back out towards the ships. “Something feels… wrong,” she says finally. “Not a disturbance, but -”

“A feeling. I sense it too.” His hand is light on her shoulder. “All the more reason for both of us to be on our guard.”

“Indeed.”

*

Varric has to admit, Coruscant is always a sight to behold.

Oh, sure, visually the skyscrapers of the higher levels are dazzling, and the senate district was all well and good… but the true sights were to be found in the underworld, in the CoCo district, and Varric desires very much to take a wander away from the politics to find the life of this world.

Though, he realises with a slight smile, that would require leaving the presence of the Jedi posted to the meeting. That would require leaving the presence of Jedi Master Pentaghast. And _that_ , he thinks, sauntering up to her side at the window, would be downright _criminal_.

“Master Pentaghast. A pleasure, as always.”

She shoots him a look. “Tethras.”

“What?”

“The last time you and I met, we ended up fighting for your life on a backwater planet in the Outer Rim. Hardly a pleasure.”

“Depends on your point of view.”

“Magister Tilani certainly thought not.”

“Maevaris was charmed. She’s used to hearing all of Satine’s stories, she was quite enamoured with a new Jedi to fawn over.”

She does not smile, not quite - not here. But he can see the mirth in her eyes as he holds out a drink.

“Toast with me. To a more secure future, and to the Kirkwall Conglomerate leaving the Council of Neutral Planets.”

One eyebrow arches up. “Truly?”

“Believe me, Pentaghast, I’m doing my best. There are those in the Guild who would see us ally with dark forces, but… I would not watch the people of my planet enslaved.” He swallows, looking away from her gaze. “The Free Marches system still remembers slavery, and how hard-fought their freedom was.”

Her fingers are light, brushing against his as she takes the glass from him. “You are doing good work, Varric,” she murmurs softly, and he feels the hairs on the back of his neck stand to attention at his given name from her lips.

“That helps.” He smiles up at her. “Thank you, Ca- Master Jedi.” He could kick himself for the slip, though something in his chest stirs at her own blush.

Perhaps this was a little too close… he knew the rules, knew this could never be. She was a Jedi Knight, part of an order that forbade romantic entanglements. And besides, he reasons, turning to the room with a heavy sigh, the Pentaghasts of the Nevarran Monarchy were way out of his league. Royals with marriages arranged before birth, some of the most elite bloodlines known to any species. And he was just a deshyr from an Outer Rim conglomerate. He was lucky to be breathing in the same room as her.

She sighs, soft and wistful. Varric dares to think they share the same regret. And then her gaze focuses, watching something in the room.

“What’s up?” he asks. “You’ve got that look that means trouble for me.”

“That droid…” She frowns. “I watched every single one this morning, but not that one.”

Varric grabs the droid’s antennae, and the small machine squawks as he leads it back. “Well, now. What are you up to? A spy?”

Cassandra kneels beside it, clicking a switch to reveal the access panel. “Perhaps. Or perhaps worse.”

An array of lights beep and flash in a worryingly rhythmic tone.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, Pentaghast,” he murmurs, “But _that_ looks like a bomb.”

Her eyes widen. “Get back.” She jumps to her feet. “Kenobi, with me!”

Varric scrambles behind her, watching as the other Jedi appears at her side, and between them they lift the droid into the air and force it through the glass with a loud bang. The forcefield flickers, and the droid seems to hover of its own volition for a moment, before exploding with such force that the noise is deafening. The shockwave blasts through the window, and the guests cry out, cowering behind whatever remained standing.

Varric peers out from behind his arm, thrown up to defend himself from the shards of glass that had been flung into the room. The male Jedi is shouting, though the noise is muted to Varric’s ears - an aftershock of the explosion, no doubt. But at Varric’s feet lies Cassandra, studded with glass and debris, breathing raggedly.

He drops to his knees. “ _Shit_ -”

“Get out of here,” she hisses, “foolish dwarf.”

“I’m not going anywhere -”

“Varric, _please_ -”

Kenobi crouches beside him, one hand clapping on his shoulder. “How about a better plan, where we all get out of here?” he offers. “Ambassador Tethras, could you accompany the Duchess and the other representatives? I will see to our mutual friend here.”

Varric hesitates, torn, before Satine touches his shoulder.

“Varric, Obi-Wan will not let her die.”

“I know. I know.” He manages a weak smile. “Hey, Pentaghast. You still owe me dinner. Better not die.”

She coughs, a noisy affair. “That - that does not count. The business on Trinovat was -”

“Hush,” he whispers, pressing his lips against her knuckles. “Just _live_ , Cassandra. That’ll make us even.”

Her fingers tighten around hers. “You cannot call me that -”

“Tell me off later.” He lets go, reluctantly, before turning to Kenobi. “Take care of her.”

“I always do,” quips the man, but the concerned glance up at Satine betrays how much he understands.

“Come, Varric. We must see to the others and send word to Maevaris. She must be told of these events.” Satine pulls him away, and Varric spares one last glance at the fallen Jedi before following his friend out of the room.


	2. Chapter 2

“… be anyone. The crude construction would seem to suggest - Cassandra?”

She blinks a few times, a little dazzled by the lights of the medical droid hovering over her. “Kenobi, report.”

He appears at her side, taking her hand gently. “Welcome back, Pentaghast. No serious casualties, barring an obstinate Jedi Knight.”

She snorts. “It is good to see you too, Obi-Wan,” she says, squeezing his fingers. “And good news indeed that nobody else suffered dearly for such an… obvious plot.”

“Obvious indeed, if it took us far too long to spot it,” he drawls. “How did -”

“The droid was unfamiliar. I examined them all before the proceedings.”

“Of _course_ you did.”

“As I should have, clearly,” she replies dryly. “The question remains, how did such a droid get into the room without being thoroughly scanned?”

Obi-Wan leans back, rubbing his beard and he thinks. “None of the delegates brought along… wait, no, there was one. A companion droid, with the Lord of the Phindar.”

“Phindar? I did not know they remained with the Council.” Cassandra struggles to sit up.

“You should be -”

“Kenobi, I will not _lie_ here like some -”

“Pentaghast?”

She stills at the new voice, turning her head to the door where Varric stands, staring at her.

“I, uh.” He swallows. “I didn’t think you’d be -”

“I was just leaving,” says Obi-Wan, smiling brightly as he hauls himself from the chair.

“Oh, no no, don’t on my account.” Varric smiles slightly. “Just checking she’s still alive.”

“I am _fine_ ,” she insists. “You are worse than mother hens, the pair of you.”

“For the record,” Varric points out, “Phindar haven’t left the Council yet, but there are a _lot_ of dirty rumours about Separatist money being involved. Some have suggested blackmail.”

Cassandra scowls. “It is always money. We need to get to the bottom of this before another bomb goes off.”

“Given your injuries, you ought not to follow this lead on your own.” Obi-Wan stands, stroking his beard once more. “I will speak to the Lord, perhaps with the Duchess as mediator. You two look into his accounts - Sir Deshyr, I believe you have contacts to do such dealings under the radar?”

Varric nods. “I know a few who could -”

“We are _not_ working together,” Cassandra splutters. “Not after last time!”

Obi-Wan’s eyes twinkle. “Now now, Pentaghast,” he says, smiling, “you are bound to protect our guests, are you not?”

“Don’t.”

“And if he should happen to find himself in need of an escort…”

“Kenobi. Don’t.”

Varric grins. “Man has a point, Pentaghast.”

Cassandra groans loudly, running a hand over her face. “Give me strength…”

*

Varric tries not to coddle her. He really does.

“I am _fine_ ,” she hisses, pulling her arm away.

“Alright, alright, sorry.” He shoves his hands in his pockets, slowing his pace slightly. “I just -”

“You just what, Tethras?”

“I feel… guilty.” He swallows. “You got hurt, and I walked away from it just fine because of you.”

“That is my _job_ ,” she says acerbically. “When I am in the room, others should be safer. So it was, that day.”

“That’s not particularly comforting.”

“It is not a balm, Tethras, it is a fact. Had you been injured, likely you would not have survived as I have. Do not blame yourself for my actions - I told you to get behind me. I knew what I was doing.”

“Still -”

She sighs, stopping. “Enough. If you are determined to rile me further, do it with something less ridiculous.” She catches his gaze, her voice softening. “None of this is your fault. And I truly am fine, I swear.”

He nods, swallowing. The slight limp belies her words, but Cassandra Pentaghast was nothing if not strong. He had to believe her. “Alright.”

“Now,” she starts, setting a quicker pace as they head further down the city, “tell me of these associates of yours.”

“ _Friends_ , Pentaghast. I call them my friends.” He smiles slightly. “Who knows, you might like them.”

*

Cassandra does not like them.

Well, she supposes, folding her arms as Varric in wrapped in a massive hug by the Zeltron, that is hardly fair. She knows nothing of them, save the face value of their rather ragged appearance.

The Zeltron - Rivaini, he had called her - held herself with the expected grace and poise of her species, but there was more than a touch of steel to her spine. And her waiting droid - Daisy, an odd choice of name - though a little rusted here and there, seemed to be juiced up more than the regulation amount. Perhaps her personality circuit had been enhanced. The M3-RR1LL units were a dying breed, even in the lower levels of the city - the WA waitress droids were made of cheaper materials - but this one had been lovingly taken care of.

But it is the cloaked woman that draws Cassandra’s attention, the angry red scar across her nose and the crooked smile the only things visible under her hood. Of course, there was more - a presence stronger than the others, a presence steeped in the Force. Not enough that she would have been approached by the Temple as a child, but strong enough that Cassandra’s hair stands on end. She knew of her powers, had learned her own methods of controlling them.

Dangerous, in her way. But then, weren’t they all?

“Hawke,” says Varric, “this is Jedi Master Pentaghast. Pentaghast, this is Ma’ian Hawke, one of my oldest friends here on Coruscant.”

Her eyes glint in the light as she lowers her cloak, short jagged hair similar to the Jedi. _What might have been,_ she thinks with a sudden jolt, _if I had not been found by Master Lucius._

“Oh,” says Hawke with a smile. “So _this_ is the Jedi Knight.”

“ _Hawke_.” Varric’s tone is a warning, and Cassandra wonders what he had said about her. But then it dawns on her, and a sadness spikes in her gut. His affection was a complication, a distraction from duty, and though she could not deny her own feelings, they could never be acted on. Varric seemed to understand this, though she knew it upset him. Still, it seemed his feelings could not be neatly contained, spilling out into conversations with these… _friends_ , she finishes mentally. _They are his friends, and they know he has feelings for you._

Dangerous.

“Tethras tells me you have unique skills,” she says carefully.

Hawke grins, and Rivaini laughs outright. “Yes, I suppose we do. Hardly legal. I’m surprised a Jedi -”

“We are not inflexible, especially when lives are on the line.”

“Ah.” The woman turns to Varric. “So. Who’s the hit?”

Varric grins, a smile Cassandra has never seen before on him. “You’re not going to believe me. Really.”


	3. Chapter 3

The information Hawke lifts from the Phindar ethernet is concerning, to say the least.

“It’s not even an election year,” Varric points out as they hurry back towards the taxis. “ _Nobody_ should be getting donations of that size.”

“So the rumours carry weight. It _could_ be Separatist funding.” Cassandra considers this as they flag down a driver. “Take us to the -”

“The embassy,” Varric interrupts. “And fast.” He throws a handful of credit chips at the driver, who scurries to put them away.

“Why -”

“If I know Songbird and your beardy colleague, they’ll be waist-deep in nug shit with the Lord by now. He’s quick and clever, he can talk you into a trap before you know it.”

She shifts in her seat, fist clenched as the driver accelerates quickly. “Nug shit?”

“You never seen the nugs of the Free Marches? Shit, Pentaghast, and here I thought you were supposed to be a well-travelled Jedi. What is it they call you?”

“The Seeker,” she says quietly. “It is hardly -”

“Not quite as grandiose as Kenobi’s. Still, it’s a good fit. You sought me out, after all.”

“A mission I regret more and more,” she mutters, looking out the window.

“Ah, don’t say _that_ , Pentaghast.” He grins. “Might actually _believe_ you if you keep it up.”

“Liar.”

“Yeah.” He laughs. “Is that a Jedi trick, knowing when I'm full of shit?”

She manages a smile at that. “You know better than I that your race is resistant to such trickery.”

“So it's a Pentaghast trick?”

“Just so.”

He laughs again, and something in her chest warms to hear it so free. Being around him was… fun. She swallows, looking out the window once more. Fun. What a freeing concept - one she had never truly found in the Nevarran halls as a child. Neither had it been easy to come across in the Jedi Temple, her years of training and duty taking precedence over enjoyment. Yet with this dwarf, there is something new - something other than duty and obligation.

_Dangerous,_ she reminds herself.

At the embassy they head straight for the Lord’s quarters, and the quiet of the building is discomforting - since their evacuation, few had returned. She reaches out to her friend, finding his location with ease.

Obi-Wan’s alarm spikes at her through the Force, and her pace quickens.

“Something is wrong,” she says.

“No shit,” mutters Varric, “I can smell the piss from here.”

The door slides open, and she can only stare in horror at the sight of the Lord of Phindar, body still twitching from what was undoubtedly poison. The Duchess shudders in Obi-Wan’s arms, face buried in the crook of his neck. The man looks up, anger clouding his eyes.

“An assassin,” he confirms. “Be mindful, Pentaghast. We are being watched.”

*

Varric still feels sick.

Between them, the Jedi manage to cobble together the series of events, the logical trails to follow. Satine disappears somewhere in the middle of their discussion, and Varric finds himself sat in the small courtyard of the embassy feeling awfully green.

He does not hear her approach, but he is not surprised when Cassandra appears.

“I would have thought you were rather used to death by now,” the Jedi admits quietly, kneeling beside him.

He pulls a face. “Not like that. Not - not like that.”

She rests a warm hand on his. “You should rest. The Consulate is not safe, but there are places -”

“I’m not leaving, Pentaghast.”

“Varric -”

“Don’t do that. I’m not _leaving_ ,” he repeats, stronger now. “This affects all of us. If Phindar falls to the Separatists, the Council is the first to suffer, and as much as I want to leave it, Kirkwall is in no position to.”

She smiles, sadness in her eyes. He should look away, should stop being around her. He should stop, before it is too late.

It is too late, his heart says quietly.

“I… admire your resolve,” she says softly. “But I will not risk your life needlessly. A transport ship will take you to the Consulate. Satine has arranged a ship for the two of you to meet with Grand Magister Tilani -”

“You’re sending me away?”

“I am doing as the Jedi Council bids me,” she points out, “and you must do as Satine bids you. The Imperium needs to know what is happening. You are not a warrior, Varric. Let me do my duty.”

He tears his eyes away from her. “Duty,” he murmurs. “You know, I _never_ liked that word.”

Her fingers curl around his. “I know.” Barely a whisper, their unspoken feelings suddenly heavy.

_She knows._

They would never talk about it, he knows that. He knows that he can never be with her as he wants to be, knows that this is as close as they will ever get. He knows that he loves her, will love her from afar for the rest of his days. He knows that she cannot love him.

He knows all this, and still he cannot bear it. Still, he cannot stop. It would have to be enough that she knows it too.

“Master Pentaghast? The transport is here.”

She straightens, her hand withdrawing, and Varric feels them shift back into their roles. The Knight and the Ambassador. He summons a weak smile.

“Be safe out there. You Jedi don't always remember you need someone to watch your six.”

She laughs, and his hair stands on end. “Keep the Duchess out of trouble,” she says, “and no doubt Kenobi has said the same to her of you.”

“What can I say?” He grins. “Me and Satine _are_ trouble.”

*

Cassandra resists the urge to curl her leg underneath her in the pilot’s chair, the old habit too much of a comfort to admit to.

“You are elsewhere,” says Obi-Wan, not unsympathetically.

“I suppose I am.” She straightens. “I simply hate the idleness that comes with travel. It allows the mind to wander.”

“Mm.” He does not meet her eyes. “It is no great _shame_ to miss his company. He is… quite amusing, in his way.”

“You presume to know -”

“My _padawan_ could presume to know,” he replies thinly, turning to face her. “You walk a dangerous path, entertaining such thoughts for so long.”

“I know. I do not have your control, not yet.”

“Give it time.” He reaches over to pat her hand. “You will not waver, Cassandra. I have faith in that.”

She considers his words, before smiling slightly. “We make something of a pair.”

Obi-Wan bristles. “You should not consider yourself a ‘pair’ with him -”

“I meant us, Kenobi,” she laughs.

“Oh.” He twists the end of his moustache, smiling. “I suppose we do, Pentaghast. I suppose we do.”

Ahead of them, Phindar looms.


	4. Chapter 4

It is a trap.

Cassandra grits her teeth as she runs down the corridor of the Phindaran spaceport, ducking as a barrage of fire hits the wall ahead of her. _Stupid!_ she thinks, turning the corner at speed. The Separatists had been camped out in Phindar for a while - long enough to set up sturdy fortifications, long enough to evacuate the people, long enough to militarise the moon… a few hundred ships could not breach their defences, now. And two lone Jedi on the ground were no match for the sheer masses of droids rumbling through the port. Already she could feel exhaustion grasping at the edges of her.

_If only we had brought some footsoldiers,_ she thinks, rolling behind cover as a platoon of droids emerge ahead of her. _If only we had seen this coming._

“Cassand- _tzz_ \- my R4 unit - _bzzt -_ cav _\- pop_ \- hangar!” Obi-Wan’s voice crackles through her comms, and she curses as she hears the droids come to a halt. Her grip on the hilt of her weapon tightens, a forced inhale as she takes stock. If she was to die here, she was going to take out as many as she could.

_For the Republic and the Temple,_ she thinks, and then - _for Varric._

She stands, defensive stance ready -

**BOOM**

Somewhere above her, something very large and very loud explodes, and the droids stumble. Taking advantage of the gap, she launches herself at them, twelve split in half before they can regain their footing. Another four fall before they can relay the problem, another two are gutted before their automatic signals are sent. She lands the other side of the large group, counting quickly - thirty-eight, still far too many. And she could not count on such a distraction again.

_Blade up, Pentaghast,_ comes the memory of her trainers.

But before the droids can rally, through the doorway she had just vacated emerges another Jedi - Anakin Skywalker, Obi-Wan’s old padawan, followed by a handful of clones and -

_“Varric?”_

He grins, hoisting up his blaster - a ridiculous contraption of his own design that was unprecedented in power and accuracy. “Would you look at that?” he drawls, before taking out a few droids around her. “We found the Seeker.”

Anakin thins out the pack, and between the group they make short work of the remaining droids. “Master Pentaghast, we’ve been waiting in the hangar bay for you. Decided we couldn’t wait anymore.” His boyish smile makes her eyes roll.

“You two are as bad as each other.” Still, she is not one to overlook a rescue, and follows the clone leader back through the doorway, running side by side with the dwarf.

“Obi-Wan?” she asks.

“Waiting for you. He said he hailed you -”

“They must be trying to block us.”

Varric grunts. “Wonder why. Just a couple of harmless tourists, after all -”

“What are you doing here?” she demands, shoving him into cover as another squad of droids appears in front of them. “You were supposed to be -”

“Oh, no, it’s fine, you’re welcome,” he snaps. “Only saved your life, no big deal.”

“Tethras -”

“I came because Mae got wind of droid ships in the system and realised it was a trap, and I was still on Coruscant. I went straight to the Temple to get your boy here, and like hell was anyone going to lose me after that.” He shrugs off her hand on his arm, and she pulls back. Around them the clones fire, loud and long, and she swallows.

“I am sorry -”

“Forget it,” he says. “I knew you were gonna get mad. That’s _very_ you, Pentaghast.” Despite the tone, he offers a smile that she returns.

Something tightens in her chest.

Skywalker rests a hand on her shoulder. “Route’s clear. Let’s get out of here.”

Varric grins. “Do I get a medal for helping rescue a Jedi?”

She snorts. “Hardly. I should not have needed saving.”

“Still,” he points out, “makes us big damn heroes anyway.”

*

Big damn heroes, thinks Varric. Fat lot of good that did.

Phindar was lost, and with it the Republic’s enemies grew. As much as the Council of Neutral Systems wanted to wash their hands of the whole war, they were now firmly in the firing lines, the Free Marches system in particular. Phindar was a foothold, and Varric’s home could be next.

“You need to make sure that your people aren’t going to fall to the corruption next,” Maevaris had said in her communication. “You need to keep Kirkwall clean. Ostwick and Starkhaven too, if you can. I’m sending you some of my best agents, but they need you to direct them, Varric. Kirkwall _must_ stand, if it is ever to be as free as you hope.”

Mae is right. He needs to go _home_.

And yet…

“Ambassador Tethras.”

He closes his eyes, taking a deep breath. “Master Pentaghast. Forgive me if I’m not my usual charming self.”

A hand rests lightly on his shoulder for a fleeting moment. “Of course. These are difficult days for the Council.” She moves back as he opens his eyes, tilting her head in deference. “I simply wished to thank you, before you left.”

“Thank me?” He snorts. “As I recall, you saved my life a fair few times back there.”

“And you saved mine,” she points out. “Thank you.”

“Pentaghast -”

“I am glad,” she says quickly. “Glad it was you.”

He swallows, before offering a short bow. “Always glad to help out the Jedi,” he says quietly. “Always.”

The hint of a blush in her cheeks is becoming. He feels the ache in his chest, knows she feels it too. “If ever you need my assistance, Tethras -”

“I know.” He smiles gently. “I know.”

They both knew. It would have to be enough.

*

Varric watches the Coruscant port get smaller and smaller from the observation deck, heart aching.

“You’ll be back sooner than you think,” points out Satine with a slight smirk. “Either here or on some other planet, you’ll find her at your side again. Mae would force Master Yoda’s hand if she thought she had to.”

“It’s not that,” he says quietly.

“Then what?”

He shakes his head. “It’s hopeless, is what it is.” Looking up at his friend, he shrugs. “Either one of us could die between now and the end of the war. Maybe even both of us. And even if we live… we couldn’t ever have a life together. Her duty forbids it, and she could never - I mean, she wouldn’t be _her_ if she was the kind of person to give that up.” He swallows. “We’re basically opposites. The Jedi and the dwarf. It couldn’t ever be.”

Satine sits next to him, taking his hand in both of hers. “You know all this, but does it stop what your heart feels?”

“Not even a little,” he says, smiling weakly. “How do we bear it?”

“With dignity,” she murmurs, kissing his forehead, “because they are worth it.”

He closes his eyes, leaning into her as the view fades and only the stars remain.


End file.
